


Turnabout

by fuzipenguin



Series: Razor's Edge [1]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, Gags, M/M, Other, o-ring gags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 19:12:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15735651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuzipenguin/pseuds/fuzipenguin
Summary: Bluestreak starts practicing what Ratchet has taught him.





	Turnabout

**Author's Note:**

> dracoqueen22 said: Oooo. How about Bluestreak practicing his Dommy ways on his mentor? Pretty please? <3

                 “Open your mouth, please,” Bluestreak instructed softly.

                Ratchet looked up at him with a raised orbital ridge. He settled a little more firmly onto the heels of his pedes and innocently tilted his head to the side, most definitely _not_ parting his lips. Bluestreak sighed in impatience.

                “You’re not making this any easier on yourself,” Bluestreak cautioned, shaking his head. “This is your last chance… _open your mouth_.”

                Almost smugly, Ratchet pressed his lips together, thinning them.

                Bluestreak sighed again and reached into subspace as the same time he stepped forward. He crowded against Ratchet’s front and pressed the tip of a crackling shock rod into the side of Ratchet’s neck. Ratchet reflexively gasped at the sharp pain and Bluestreak smoothly fit the o-ring between Ratchet’s lips. Once it was in place, Bluetreak quickly snapped the gag’s ends together behind Ratchet’s head.

                Bluestreak tossed the now inactive shock rod aside, although left it within reach. Once he ensured that the mouth gag’s straps were tight and in place, he stepped back to his original position.

                “There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Bluestreak asked sweetly.

                “…ag oo!” Ratchet growled, his glossa prodding at the thick metal ring stuck behind his denta. His engine revved and he tried to rub the side of his face on his shoulder, but the thick band of stiff leather at his neck made motion of his helm in any direction difficult.

                “I’m sorry, I didn’t quite understand that,” Bluestreak commented mildly. “Perhaps your mouth is dry. Would you like something to wet it?”

                He leaned over and picked up the flute of mid-grade sitting on his tool table. Reaching out, he tightly gripped Ratchet’s chin and poured the fluid directly through gag.

                The medic choked and coughed, fighting against his bonds and attempting to turn his head to the side. But Bluestreak held him firm, ignoring Ratchet’s struggles. When the flute had been emptied, Bluestreak bent and licked at the trails of energon around Ratchet’s mouth. He cleaned Ratchet’s face with his glossa and then proceeded to suckle at Ratchet’s lips, nipping the straining metal.

                “Mmm. You spilled some,” Bluestreak said, when Ratchet’s wheezes finally slowed. “How careless of you.”

                Bluestreak straightened up and grasped the carafe of mid-grade. It bubbled slightly as he refilled the flute and he turned back to Ratchet with a smirk.

                “Now be sure not to spill another drop, or I’ll have to punish you.”


End file.
